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as dear to her as the day. Though Rosanna was but twenty-one, she knew too well the sorrow of losing her babies to miscarriage. This last time, the presiding doctor had declared she would probably never carry a baby to term. The shock of the news had been terrible for both Rosanna and her young husband, and Nellie wondered if Rosanna had confided the doctor’s startling conclusion to Kate just as she had to Nellie.
    Suddenly she felt nervous as worrisome thoughts flitted through her head. What if something happened and Kate couldn’t . . . or didn’t follow through with her offer? But Nellie held her peace, not wanting to bring a sad thought to her friend, who had yearned for a little one with no success.
    “Please sit, Nellie Mae. Have some hot cocoa with me. Time to rejoice.” Rosanna didn’t wait for her to agree. She scurried over to the stove and set a kettle on the fire. “’Tis such a gift, ain’t? There’s no other way to look at it.”
    “I should say so.” Yet Nellie could not understand how Rosanna’s cousin and her husband could give away their own precious baby—their flesh and blood. She’d seen the adorable wee ones Kate had birthed over the years, six youngsters in all.
    How can Kate relinquish her baby? Won’t she pine for this child all the days of her life?
    Despite her questions, Nellie’s spirits had risen at Rosanna’s news. She couldn’t help but think, and hope, that just maybe Kate’s promise of a baby—a Christmas babe—might somehow dispel some of the ridiculous church tittle-tattle. If a baby can do such a thing .

C HAPTER 4
    Betsy rolled out the dough for her chicken and dumplings dinner, glad Nellie Mae was back from her visit over at Ephram’s. She had tried her best to chat with Nellie upon her return, but her daughter had seemed distracted. She wondered if Nellie Mae had taken the opportunity to open up to Maryann and share her secret. Close as she had been to Suzy, surely Nellie knew more about Suzy’s death than she was telling.
    Sighing, Betsy expertly shaped each dough ball, washing her hands at the sink when she was through. How convenient it was to no longer have to carry well water indoors from the pump.
    Reuben’s doing . . .
    Thinking of her husband’s insistence on bringing water into the house two months back, she hoped Reuben would not fall prey to the urging of his farmer friends and relatives’ current progressive talk. Yet her husband had voiced nary an interest in modern farm equipment over the years, despite their living alongside English neighbors who owned such things. Of course, as a newly married couple, she and Reuben had sometimes talked privately of the hard reality of doing things the Old Way, which kept them working long hours, day in and day out. Truth was, Betsy did sometimes envy the Englischers, who could plow, plant, and cultivate their fields in record time.
    With time left to rest of an evening . . .
    Momentarily she wondered what that must be like, but immediately she rejected the thought, just as Reuben certainly would. It was not the path they had chosen.
    She wrapped her arms around her middle, making her way across the backyard to the paved path that led from the dirt road in front of the house all the way back to Nellie’s cozy and quaint bakery. The shop’s sign perched above the solid structure, beckoning passersby to drop in. Like the rest of the building, it had been built by her husband and their eldest sons—twins Thomas and Jeremiah—both as strapping as they were dependable.
    She smiled thinking of her double blessing, still recalling all the fun—and the seemingly endless work—she’d experienced as a new mother of only eighteen. How thankful she’d been even then for a husband who’d added to her joy with his thoughtful ways. Truly she had cared for handsome Reuben Fisher right from the start of their courting days.
    Betsy suspected her daughter Nan was equally ripe for a similarly intense romance, although